Out of Bounds
by VillainsInLove
Summary: The slamming of the stadium gate startled her out of her spiraling meltdown and a glimmer of hope shone through the darkness evading her mind. Someone was still here! And at this point, Sansa was not above groveling for help to literally anyone. Except the one person she saw locking up the gates. The football coach was … scary. Cross posted to ao3.
1. Chapter 1

It had been half an hour.

Well, Sansa couldn't say for sure, but twenty minutes had already passed when her phone died and _that_ felt like it had been ten minutes ago. But maybe it just felt that long because she had nothing to do but lean against the stadium wall and stare at her recently done manicure. (French tip. It made it difficult, to hold pom-poms with such long nails, but Margaery had _insisted_ , and Margaery Tyrell always had the first word in fashion.) Maybe it had only been thirty seconds since her battery died and she was just being overdramatic, like Joff often joked she was.

But it had _definitely_ been _at least_ twenty minutes. She had proof of that. Not only the time on her phone before it died, but people had stopped swarming out of the stadium gates a while ago and the parking lot was almost void of cars.

So here she stood, all alone, at night, in an empty parking lot. A shiver— that had nothing to do with the cold— ran down her spine. She had on only her hated cheer uniform, a bright red and gold tank top that liked to bear her midriff when she raised her arms and a pleated skirt that she was always feeling the need to pull down. It did nothing to protect her from the cold, not to mention the colors clashed _horribly_ with her hair. It was the beginning of October and no amount of rubbing her bare arms was keeping her warm from the nip of the autumn air. Sansa dreamed of her fur-lined jacket, locked securely in the girl's locker room, where she had mistakenly forgotten it.

After the game, (Home win! Go Lions!) Sansa had tried to catch Joffrey's eye on the field but he was quickly swept away in the by his teammates for some locker room celebration. She trusted that he remembered his promise to drive her home afterwards and went quickly out to stand by the stadium's gates, where he had _told_ her to wait. She knew Joff should be out and ready in five minutes tops, so she hadn't bothered to go to her locker and retrieve her cozy extra layer. Besides, she knew if she went back to the locker room she would end up talking with the other girls on the squad. Joff was always teasing that she talked too much. And she'd hate to make him wait.

After a few more agonizing minutes of staring blankly at the almost empty parking lot, Sansa had to admit to herself that she had been forgotten. It hurt, but she didn't blame Joff. He hated driving Sansa home. She knew because she always had to ask him to, he never offered. And who could blame him? Of course he'd much rather be celebrating with his friends than having to drive around his silly girlfriend, who couldn't go with him because of her strict curfew and who couldn't drive herself home because she'd already failed the test for her licence twice. He probably assumed that after a few minutes of waiting she would have realized he'd forgotten and got a ride home with a friend, like any sane person would have. It's not like he knew that she would keep waiting like an idiot and be stranded with a dead phone and no way home. It was her fault. Things in their relationship usually were.

 _It's okay,_ she told herself. _Dad will realize I'm not home on time and come looking for me._ The way her father worried it would probably only take him another hour to let his anxiety boil over before he was getting in his car and coming to get her. And of course the school's stadium was the first logical place to check.

She hoped.

Sansa felt tears prick the backs of her eyes. Her legs hurt from being on her feet for so long, but the sidewalk was too dirty for her to risk sitting down, and the full face of makeup Margaery insisted every girl wear for games was starting to feel heavy, _and_ it was so cold she was starting to lose feeling in her fingers, _and..._ Joffrey had _promised._

The slamming of the stadium gate startled her out of her spiraling meltdown and a glimmer of hope shone through the darkness evading her mind. Someone was still here! And at this point, Sansa was not above groveling for help to _literally anyone_.

Except the one person she saw locking up the gates.

The football coach was … scary.

Sansa prided herself that she could always find a compliment, even for the worst of people. Like Arya's friend, Hot Pie, who weighed a few extra pounds and always smelled like grease but really did make apple pie better than her mother. Or that weird girl, Lollys, who eats lunch alone and is constantly crying in the bathroom but who Sansa told just today had lovely handwriting.

But there was _nothing_ good Sansa could find to say about Mr. Clegane. He was tall, but _too_ tall, in a monstrous, towering sort of way. He was muscled, but _too_ muscled, and she could now see the way he bulged through even his thick leather jacket. His hair was long and dark, but lank and combed weirdly to the side. His face was plain, that is … where he _had_ a face. The entire right side was a mess of charred black and red, _wet_ looking burn scars that Sansa hadn't dared to look at for more than a few seconds at a time. She supposed, if her life depended on saying one nice thing about Mr. Clegane, she could say he was striking.

As he turned from his task, he saw her standing there and met her eyes for a moment, but she turned her head quickly, ponytail whipping and irrational fear gripping her heart. He made a sound that could've been a huff and lumbered past, without looking at her, on legs as thick as tree trunks. Sansa couldn't believe what she was about to do, but knew otherwise she had a real chance of spending the night on this sidewalk.

"Um, sir!" she called out, proud of herself for not stuttering.

His head whipped around, eyes blazing. " _What?_ "

Anxiety fluttered in Sansa's chest. That was the other thing. Mr. Clegane was _mean._

She had never talked to him before this, but Joff had told her stories and she's heard him herself yelling at his players during practice. Some people called him the Hound for all his barking. For such a tall man, he had the shortest fuse she had ever seen, and no one knew what little thing would set him off. With the things he said, all sorts of things Sansa would _never_ repeat (not even in her head) she had no idea how he still had a job at this school. How he even got the job in the first place, _looking_ and _speaking_ the way he did, was way beyond her.

"Do you have an iphone charger I could please borrow? My phone died and I don't ha—"

"Do I look like someone who owns an iphone?" He looked like someone who lived in the woods and chopped all his firewood by hand and was also a serial killer. Sansa didn't say that out loud though. He turned back to her fully and she was caught in his hulking shadow cast by the parking lot lights.

She gaped at him, mouth open like a fish. She had no idea how to respond. What answer would make him less likely to chew her head off?

When she took too long to answer, he huffed and started rifling through his jacket pocket. Sansa tensed, waiting for him to pull out some weapon to murder her with and tried to remember even a little bit of the self defense moves Robb had attempted to teach her before she moved south. Mr. Clegane began to step closer and she was ready to say screw it and run when he pulled out the oldest looking flip phone Sansa had ever seen and held it out to her.

She was pretty sure he meant for her to take it, but all common sense and charm Sansa had ever possessed flew out the window in the face of this terrifying man and all she could do was stare at the dinosaur of a phone. When it was obvious she wasn't going to move, he shook it lightly in front of her. "Take it," he said, his voice as harsh as tires on gravel. "And call whoever you need to call so I can go home."

Sansa dreaded her next sentence. "Well, actually, everyone's numbers are in my contacts and I don't know any by heart so…" her voice became a near whisper and trailed off as she saw his face darken.

He shoved his phone roughly back into his pocket and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like "fucking teenagers" and looked down at her.

Sansa was tall for a girl but at this close she barely even reached his shoulder. She avoided eye contact and kept her head down as if it was the most interesting sidewalk she had ever seen. She could feel his gaze on her, pinning her to the spot, as he stared for what felt like an _uncomfortable_ amount of time at the top of her auburn head.

Suddenly, she felt his ginormous paw of a hand on her bare arm as he began to lead her away from the stadium, his touch oddly gentle for such a big man. "Come on then. Can't let you freeze to death out here, can I? Too much damn paperwork."

He lead her to a very old, very beat up looking pickup truck, one of the last few cars left in the lot, and gestured for her to get in. She wondered if she should chance it and decline his offer, wait and see if anyone else was around. Maybe the better alternative _was_ sleeping on the sidewalk, rather than get into this scary car with this scary man and probably ending up murdered in a ditch somewhere. But Sansa thought maybe she was just being silly. He was a staff member and authority figure at her school and was therefore automatically trustworthy, right? Besides, despite his gruffness, he'd been nothing but kind in his odd, brutish way. Sansa really needed to stop judging people based on appearances, it's not like Mr. Clegane could help his scars, disgusting as they were. She climbed into the truck and saw the glint of a chain around his throat as he got into the driver's side.

She was on his burned side, so she kept her eyes glued to the dash as they drove off and she gave quiet directions to her house. He had immediately turned the heat on, but the chill of the air wouldn't leave her and she sat stiff and shivering in the most awkward situation she'd ever been in in her life. He hadn't even turned the radio on. By the looks of him, she'd guess he preferred classic rock or maybe even old country like Johnny Cash, but she'd bet his favorite was brooding uncomfortable silence which was exactly what was happening now.

Sansa, who always prided herself on her people skills, tried to think of something to say to fill the quiet, but when they stopped at a red light, he took his jacket off and tossed it across her lap. "Here," he rasped out, "I can't stand all the bloody shivering." Surprised, she mumbled a thank you and draped his jacket over herself like a cloak. It was still warm from his body heat and so big that it practically engulfed her.

"That was a very good game tonight, Mr. Clegane," she said, once she had gained enough courage. This seemed like a safe conversation.

He let out a harsh sound that might have been a laugh. " _Good_?" he mocked. "A bunch of children fumbling around like gnats. _Lions_ won only 'cause they dropped the ball a few times less than the other team. What would you know about a good game, girl? Have you ever even _seen_ a football game?"

She couldn't understand what he was so angry about. She'd complimented him! "I've been to every game this year," she said, indignant.

He scoffed. "Those sorry excuses hardly count, especially not when you have your back turned the entire time, jumping up and down in your little uniform."

She hugged his jacket closer to herself, clinging to this scrap of him while cringing away from the man himself. Her oldest brother Robb was a football star back home in the North. She'd been to several of his games, she wanted to argue. She may have been on her phone for a good chunk of them, but she'd been there. The whole point was moot though, if this was his reaction to a compliment, she had no desire to see what he'd do if she disagreed with him.

"Do you like football, Mr. Clegane?" she tried one more time. Everyone liked to talk about themselves, right?

"I'm no _mister._ " He spat the word. "I'm a coach, not a teacher. Get that in your head, girl. And spare me all this small talk. You don't actually care and neither do I. You're just saying what you think you're supposed to. Let me ask you a question. Have you ever had an original thought in your head? You're just like a little parrot, with your bright hair, only repeating things others taught you."

She could feel tears at the backs of her eyes from the, in her opinion, unnecessary scolding. "That's not very nice," she replied weakly.

Lucky for her he only scoffed and she was saved from further scathing remarks. She sat back in her seat and said nothing else. Obviously her niceties were unwanted.

They went on like that for a few more minutes of awkward silence before her plan was foiled. As much as it seemed there was a mutual distaste for each other's company and conversation, he continued to talk on. "You're that one always hanging around Baratheon, aren't you?"

Her heart fluttered in her chest from something other than nervousness. Her sense of discomfort flew away at a chance to talk about a topic she was actually interested in. Smiling to herself, she said softly, "He's my boyfriend." Oh, just saying it made her light up upside! She'd met Joffrey Baratheon this summer. Her father had to go south for a business trip and Sansa had begged for days to go. She was so tired of the drab and boring North, where it was always snowing and everyone dressed like grandmothers. Her mother was from the south and helped fill Sansa, along with magazines and tv shows, with an unmatched longing for the decadency and brightness and romance of big southern cities like King's Landing and Oldtown.

Sansa had pleaded and argued; she was out of school on break, she needed culture in her life, she could see what debutante society was like in other places, she was going to die if she stayed in this house for one moment longer. The debutante point got her mother on her side. Catelyn Tully had been a prominent debutante in her day and had passed the, mostly southern tradition, onto her daughters. Well, Sansa embraced the fancy dresses and extravagant luncheons with open arms, but Arya began to fight tooth and nail the moment anyone even mentions finger sandwiches. Which was why, much to Arya's vehemence, Catelyn suggested Arya come to King's Landing as well, maybe seeing _real_ debutante society would inspire her to take part in a years honored tradition. Sansa highly doubted it, but if it got her closer to King's Landing, she was willing to deal with Arya for the summer.

King's Landing was everything Sansa ever dreamed it'd be and more. She'd experienced fashion, and culture, and actually _warm_ weather for the first time in her life. But most importantly, she'd found love.

Joffrey Baratheon was the son of her father's best friend and business associate. He was in the year above her, tall and handsome, and he _liked_ her. They'd gone on a few dates over the summer, he was so sweet and he'd told her she was pretty, and by the beginning of the school year, they were _officially_ boyfriend and girlfriend. Her dad had had to stay longer than he'd planned in the south to finish his work anyway, so it only took a little pleading and a dash of puppy dog eyes and soon enough she was enrolled for her sophomore year at the prestigious and private St. Baelor High School. The same school as her Joffrey. (Arya was also staying in King's Landing and attending the adjourning junior school for her last year as a middle schooler, news which made Arya throw such a conniption that it ended with a broken glass table and a hole in the wall. It was just like Arya to ruin one of the happiest moments of Sansa's life.)

Mr. Clegane let out another one of his weird, maybe laughs. "Then why aren't you with your _boyfriend_ tonight, girl?"

Sansa didn't like the way he said the word 'boyfriend.' It felt mocking, like she was a little girl dressing in her mother's heels and makeup, playing at being grown up. And was it that weird to not be with her boyfriend for one friday night? It was already almost eleven o'clock! "Um." Sansa began to fiddle with the ends of her ponytail. "He was supposed to drive me home after the game, but I guess he just got busy." She tried to laugh nonchalantly, but it came out shaky.

She still wasn't looking anywhere near his direction but she heard smugness in his deep voice when he said, "Yeah, _real_ busy going to Tyrell's party. Wouldn't stop talking about it on his way out."

" _What?"_ The sentence gave her such a shock that she whipped her head in his direction and didn't even think about how rude her response was.

Loras Tyrell was Margaery's brother, a senior, and the quarterback. He was the best player on the team if she was being honest and the only one that rivaled Joff in looks. She loved Joffrey with all her heart but had caught herself staring forlornly at the back of Loras' quaffed locks from her seat behind him in her advanced AP lit class on multiple occasions. She knew of the Tyrell's huge parties they threw almost every week, and had been invited multiple times by Margaery herself, though never got to go because of her curfew. She assumed their enthusiasm for getting wildly drunk every weekend petered out as they got further into the school year and their party throwing with it. Apparently the parties were still going strong, she'd just stopped being invited.

She felt upset, but that was stupid, wasn't it? Of course if she turned the Tyrells down every time they'd stop asking. And Joffrey was allowed to have fun with his friends instead of babysitting his girlfriend. It wouldn't have been that hard to tell her he was going though. He didn't even text.

Mr. Clegane glanced at her shocked expression from the corner of his eye and reminded Sansa that she was staring right at his grisly scars. She turned her face back towards the windshield as quickly as possible. She saw his grip tighten on the steering wheel.

"What's wrong? There something on my face?" He sounded angrier than she'd ever heard but his voice was barely above a whisper in the quiet car. She never took her eyes off the windshield and felt her stomach drop as they pulled up to another red light.

He was on her as soon as soon as he hit the break, leaning his huge body over the console and into her personal space. Sansa curled in on herself and leaned away as far as she possibly could but could still feel his presence right next to her, feel his eyes on her. This close she could smell the alcohol on his breath and realized he'd found time to drink at some point tonight.

Sansa also realized that though she had bangs for an entire year in middle school, getting into Mr. Clegane's car was the worst decision of her life.

"Look at me," he rasped. His hand grasped her chin, pinching it tightly. He was so angry, he was shaking. Sansa didn't know what she did to offend him so much. People must avoid his face all the time, he should be used to it by now.

There was nothing to do but obey him and look at his horror of a face. The red from the traffic light highlighted the normal side, painting his gaunt cheek and large hooked nose in harsh color. He wasn't bad looking at all, she realized. Plain, truly. Luckily, the light also casted his scars in shadow and she was spared the image of them up close, though she could still see the texture of them and the hint of bone that peaked out near his jaw where the flesh had been seared away. Really the worst of it was how the red glinted in his eyes, how it made him look feral and mad.

He stared at her, saying nothing. The light changed to green on his face and still he didn't move. A horn went off and only then did he turn his disdainful expression away from her and onto the car behind his beat up truck before letting her go and turning back in his seat.

Her chin smarted in light pain from his harsh grip as he hit the gas pedal. Sansa prayed that was the end of it, but the gods were apparently not with her this night.

"I was in a war, you know?"

She hadn't known but somehow she doubted it was the kind of question she was supposed to answer. She remembered the chain around his neck. Dog tags?

"I saw terrible things over there," he continued. "Worse things than you can even imagine in that empty little head of yours." His train of insults never ceased. She wondered if it was the alcohol that made him so awful or if he was really just like this all the time. "Everyone always assumed that's where I got _these_." She knew he meant his scars. "No, my _handsome_ face was a gift from my brother." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I was in a war, but I preferred that to being in a house with him."

Sansa turned to look at him at that, though he was not looking at her, eyes glued to the road. "It was just after Christmas when I was young, real young. Dad didn't make a lot of money so you got one present and that was it and you didn't complain. I don't even remember what we both got, just that I wanted his more than mine. Now, Gregor is five years older than me, too old for toys by then. Didn't give a shit about whatever action figure he got, just opened it and left it there in the living room. Didn't look at it twice."

Sansa noticed he was gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles had turned white. "I snuck in that evening to play with it, but there was no fun, too scared of him finding me. And he did. We didn't have the money for heating, so the big fireplace in the living room was always burning in the winter and he didn't say a word, just picked me up and held my face down in the flames. I screamed and screamed, it felt like hours until my father could get him off me. He took me to the hospital and when they asked what happened he said the lamp fell and my sheets caught fire. He told me not to tell anyone what really happened, couldn't put my own family in prison, he said. Didn't matter that I was _his family_ when Gregor burned half my fucking face off.

"The truth of it was that Gregor was only in middle school, but he was big and a fighter. Made good money in street matches that my dad couldn't afford to lose. Not that he used any of that money on me, no surgeries or skin grafts to fix my ruin of a face. I haven't seen him in years, but I still hear stories from time to time about the shit Gregor's done. Terrible things. And he's never been to prison, not once. He always gets off. Not once has he paid for _any of it._ "

Mr. Clegane was breathing hard like he'd just run a race and Sansa realized while he was talking all the fear she felt towards him had gone away. Now she afraid _for_ him. And sad too. She found his hulking shoulder over the console and met his eyes when they flashed to hers in the darkness of the car. "That's not fair at all. Not fair what he did to you and not fair that he got away with it. He's _evil_."

He was silent for a moment before he burst out laughing, louder than she'd ever heard him and sounding like the snarling of dogs. It was not a kind laugh. "Do you think we live in some storybook, bird girl? Some fairytale where shit like fairness exists or matters. _Evil_ ," he mocked. "What would you know about evil? What would _you_ know about _anything?_ Give your pity to someone who wants it."

The fear was back so quick it was like it never went away in the first place. She didn't pity him though. She just wanted to help. Sansa was angry for him but she was angry _at_ him too. There was only so much verbal abuse a girl could take in one car ride. She just wanted to go home.

It seemed he'd had his fill of talking, something Sansa thanked the old gods and the new for, but she couldn't take this sudden quiet. After his revelations, the silence was tenser than it had been before and she could feel it pressing down on her. Her hand drew to the dashboard and she asked as politely as she possibly could, "Would you mind if I turned on the radio?"

"If you touch that radio, I'll break your wrist."

She snatched her hand back as if she had been burned. Ironic.

"And I'll do worse if you tell anyone what I told you." His voice was so low it was practically a growl.

She saw that he was pulling up to her house and was out of the car and slamming the door before he could even fully stop. She didn't wait to see if he left, just barreled up the driveway and tried unlock the door with her shaking hands.

It wasn't until she was inside, the door relocked and her back pressed against it that Sansa realized she hadn't told him thank you. And that she was still holding his jacket.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa caught Mr. Clegane as he was leaving practice on Monday.

She'd been dreading this moment all weekend, ever since she escaped from his truck with unshed tears in her eyes and his jacket clutched in her terrified grip. She had the jacket with her now, overly large and folded up in her arms. The thought of just not giving it back and avoiding this situation altogether plagued her constantly, but she knew that was the coward's option. Besides, it's considered very unladylike to steal. And there is, of course, the very realistic option of him accosting her in the middle of cheer practice in front of all her friends, demanding his jacket back. Who knows how mean the man could be if she _actually_ did something to make him angry. _No_ , she had decided, it would be much better to face her fears and give it back to him herself, on her own terms and as quickly as possible. _Like ripping off a band-aid._ (Though now that she thought about it, Sansa had always winced when she saw Arya doing just that, and preferred the method her mother taught her of soaking them in hot water to pull them off as softly and painlessly as possible.)

So here she was. She'd run as fast as she could to the track where the football players did drills and laps for practice on Mondays. Her own cheer practice, held in the gym and halfway across the huge school, had only ended a few minutes prior and she was terrified Mr. Clegane would leave before she could get to him. Then she'd have to spend another whole day as a ball of worry over this _stupid_ jacket. She found him outside, right by the doors and leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette (which was definitely against school policy, but she wouldn't be the one to tell him that.) The boys had already gone in from practice and he stood by himself.

Terrible anxiety curled up in her tummy at the thought of being alone with him again and she was filled with half dread for the upcoming conversation and half relief that this whole situation would finally be over. Sansa had learned her lesson. That was the last time she ever got into a car with a strange man. How stupid was she for there to even be a first time? Maybe this time she'd be lucky. Maybe he was in a better mood this afternoon than he was Friday night. Maybe he'd had a bad day and was normally a much calmer man. Maybe he'd take the jacket and let her go without one insult to her brains or lack thereof. Maybe she'd even get a thank you!

He looked over when the doors opened and the moment he saw it was her, his eyes narrowed and his lip curled up into a sneer, looking like a growling dog, interrupted from chewing his favorite bone. She felt her hope for this interaction being even slightly pleasant crumble like ash in her chest. His glowering made her nervous and she found her heavily practiced words now hard to come by under his stare. She waited for him to acknowledge her instead. He took a few deliberate moments and took his time flicking ashes off the end of his cigarette before finally rasping down at her, "What do _you_ want?"

With all the other awful things to focus on in her memory of him from that night; his burned face, his rage, his imposing stature, she'd forgotten about that terrible, snarling voice. She wondered if that was caused by the fire as well, if the smoke had caught in his lungs and burned his vocal cords. Ravaged him from the inside out. She also wondered if just throwing the jacket somewhere in his general direction and hightailing it back inside would've been the best idea.

"Um, yes," she managed to stammer out, hating the speechless effect he had on her. "Here you go, sir." She held out his jacket, hoping against all hope that he'd just take it and let her go on her way. To better her chances she even smiled and looked him in the eye. Or tried to, at least. His face really was just horrible but his eyes were even worse, steel grey and always full of rage. The moment only lasted a second before she was looking away from him again. The harshness in his grip as he grabbed the jacket from her told Sansa he had noticed her balking at his face once again and didn't appreciate it.

It was chilly for a southern afternoon, even in early October and she hoped he hadn't been cold this whole time without it. He was only wearing a long sleeved shirt that he now shucked the jacket on top of. His shoulders were so broad and his chest so wide it was probably very hard to find things in his size. She wondered if it was the only jacket he had.

"I wanted to wash it before giving it back, but I didn't know what to do with leather." Washing someone's clothes was the polite thing to do after borrowing them, Sansa knew, though in this case it was less borrowing and more of accidentally stealing while running away in terror. She did try and spritz some of her favorite lemon scented perfume sparingly on it to try and cover its stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol. She was mostly successful.

He puffed on his cigarette and breathed out black fumes, ruining all of her good work, as he spoke. "It's fine as it is, little bird."

An anger that was rare in her, but terrible when stirred, flared up suddenly. Of all the things he had said to her in the car, calling her dumb and empty headed like a bird was one of the meanest. Sansa could admit she wasn't perfect, but she wasn't dumb, she _wasn't_. The straight A's on her report card could speak for that. Well, except for the B- in geometry, but she was working on it and it's not like Mr. Clegane knew anything about that blip anyway, and even if he did he would be so blown away by her good grades and ashamed for calling her stupid that he wouldn't even notice it. "It's Sansa," she said, surprised at her own boldness.

"What?"

"My name." She made sure to enunciate every word very clearly. "It's Sansa Stark."

The raised eyebrow on the good side of his face made her think he was surprised by her as well. "I know what your name is, girl." He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I just think mine fits better."

Never before had she met someone so rude and intolerable. _Maybe the gods had known what an awful man he would become_ , she thought wildly, _maybe they ruined his face early to let the outside match the ugliness of the in_. But that was unkind, and she regretted the thought the moment it passed through her head. It wasn't her fault though, something about this man brought out the worst in her. He made her lose all the charm and grace and dignity she possessed. She wasn't dumb or mean it was just... _him._

Suddenly she looked up and he was there, much closer than he was before her little outburst, looming over her. She wasn't super sure he was _looming_ on purpose. Mr. Clegane was very, very tall and gods knew he had a frightening presence naturally, he might've just _loomed_ naturally too. Though she had a distinct feeling he liked to make her uncomfortable. That it gave him a kick to watch her squirm.

Whatever the case, it worked. What little fight she had was sucked out of her and she found her eyes glued to the ground once more, trying to pretend that he wasn't too close for comfort.

She had to stick to the plan. Get in, give jacket, get out. _Like ripping off a band-aid. "_ It was lovely talking to you again, Mr. Clegane." That was a lie, but there was no harm in a lie kindly meant. "But I really have to be getting back to practice now."

A heavy hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her from the quick escape she was about to make. "Your little cheer practice is still going on?" The question was laced with derision.

"Well—"

He cut her off, "Football practice only just ended. You're telling me you lot need more time than my boys just to memorize some idiotic chant and dance?"

She could feel her cheeks getting hot. Her face always got an intense flush whenever she was embarrassed, or angry, or about to cry. She didn't know if one was happening or all three, but she did know her auburn hair made her look like a ripe tomato when she blushed which only ever made her even redder. It was true at the beginning of the year when Margaery asked her to join the squad, Sansa thought it would be a lot easier than student council, her first choice for an extracurricular. But each practice had her sweating in places she'd never sweat before and after only a few months she was starting to see definition in muscles she hadn't even known existed. Cheerleading was _hard_ , but nothing else about her seemed off limits for ridicule, so why should this?

"Actually," she said, putting on her best dignified 'you didn't just catch me in a lie so I could leave this terrible conversation' voice. A voice she didn't have to use often, not because she didn't regularly lie to get out of uncomfortable situations, it was just rare that she was caught. "Cheer practice also just ended."

"So you _lied_ to me." Oh, he was actually angry now. Not just the generally irritated mode he seemed eternally set on. The burned side of his mouth was twitching.

"No!" she said, lying. "I just meant—" she gave herself a few nervous moments to think, trying to find the words that had the least chance of making him angrier. _Good luck._ Mr. Clegane just seemed to make up reasons to be upset with her. "I just meant," she said, hoping she came off calmer than the current state of her rapidly beating heart, "that I have to go back. My things are still in the locker room. I didn't have time to get them because I rushed off as soon as practice ended. I didn't know how long you stayed after school so I didn't want to miss you." That was actually true.

He eyed her disbelievingly, and she made sure to look him in the face to prove her innocence. She didn't falter this time. When he gave her a slight nod she let out a silent breath of relief and patted herself on the back for a job well done. She'd managed to save herself from getting murdered by her school's football coach in a fit of rage for the second time. (Sansa couldn't die. Not only was she not ready, but she hadn't written a will yet and she _refused_ to let all her lovely things get passed down to Arya who would have it all broken and mud stained within the week.)

She was about to flounce off in victory when he rasped, "I hope Baratheon isn't your ride again, 'cause he's already gone." His eyes were menacing as he lifted his brow at her. "My passenger's seat is always open, little bird." He leaned forward. "Besides, I already know where you live."

She couldn't get the words out of her mouth fast enough. "Um, no thank you, sir! My father's coming to pick me up." His laugh was like the sawing of wood as he leaned back into his own personal bubble and flicked the remnants of his cigarette to the ground, stomping out the light from the cherry with his black boot.

He was already lighting another one from the cartridge in his jeans when he said, "It's no problem, really. Give him a call and save him the drive. I'm sure he's fine with the nice football coach giving you a ride again. Got you back home safe and sound last time, didn't I?" His grin was almost feral.

That thing about him making her uncomfortable on purpose just to mess with her? She was almost certain that was the reason for this new tangent. She wanted nothing more than to be done with this conversation but there really was no polite way to excuse herself after he'd already seen through her earlier lie. And he _knew_ that. She found herself hating the rules of propriety and wishing she could be as wicked as her little sister for once, who had no qualms about walking off when she was done with a person, without a word if they were lucky, or with a very rude finger gesture if they weren't. Sansa would know, she'd been on the other end of both scenarios too many times to count.

"Thank you, really," she made herself say, the image of a perfect lady. He would not make her crack. "But he's probably almost here...and he doesn't know about the car ride."

He looked genuinely surprised at that. "You didn't tattle on me for making you cry?"

"I didn't cry," she argued before thinking and his following huff of disbelief made her blush. He made her feel like such as a child.

"I _was_ surprised to find that I still had a job this morning," he continued as if she hadn't said anything. "Thought for sure the little bird would go running to daddy about mean ol' Clegane."

He really thought the absolute worst of her, didn't he? That she would go off crying to her parents at the first inconvenience? To be completely truthful, it wasn't an inaccurate portrait of her but something about the situation made her hold her tongue.

"If you didn't tell him, who _did_ you tell?"

A shock of fear went up her spine at his narrowed eyes. "Nobody!" It was true. Yes, he'd scared her worse than she'd ever been scared in her life, but he _had_ given her a ride home when he didn't have to. And told her about his scars. Maybe it was silly but it had seemed wrong to share any details about how she'd gotten home that night to anybody. It made her feel weird to share a secret with a man such as Mr. Clegane.

What he told her that night...she didn't pity Mr. Clegane, but she did have a deep empathy for him. Despite his growling and snarling she couldn't find it in herself to hate him, nor did she want him to get in trouble. "I wouldn't," she said softly. Then again louder, "I wouldn't do that. You helped me when you didn't have to, I wouldn't throw that back in your face by getting you in trouble. If you're worried about that _other_ thing you told me, I didn't tell anyone about that either. I'm really not a gossip, and besides it's not my secret to sha—" He'd inhaled a puff from his cigarette and cut off her rambling when he blew it in her direction, making her face scrunch up. Ugh, she hated the cloying smoke and stench of cigarettes. Robb's friend Theon liked to smoke them back home when Ned wasn't around to tell him to knock it off. The smell would be stuck in her clothes and hair for days it seemed, no matter how much she washed either of them.

"That's enough, girl. If you kept your mouth shut so far, no need to open it back up, not to me or anyone."

Spite made her say, "Those things can kill you, you know?"

A harsh, quick laugh seemed to burst out of him. "I can only hope."

He really was the worst. Clenching her fist so hard she could feel her nails leaving half moon impressions against her palms, she waited for the next insult to come but he was leaning against the wall again, smoking and looking out over the track, just like he'd been when she first found him. After a few moments, he spared her a glance and said, "You're still here? Fly away, little bird. Or do I have to make you leave?"

She didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

Sansa wasn't sure what she done for the gods to punish her like this, but it must've been pretty bad.

Three weeks. It had been _three weeks_ (well in truth it had only been seventeen days, but she didn't think anyone would judge her for rounding up in her situation) since she'd given Mr. Clegane his jacket back and fate seemed determined for them to constantly run into each other. Literally. The man must have a Sansa shaped bruise from how many times she's smacked into him.

Before _the incident_ , she had seen him on occasion, but always where he was supposed to be; yelling obscenities at his players every Friday night at the games or at practice when Sansa would come to watch Joffrey and be his own personal cheerleader. And he's still at those places too, though now any moment she's alone, no matter how brief, she almost always seemed to stumble upon him. Now some cruel god had him finding her in the _hallways_ at school, she even saw him once early in the morning in the parking lot after her father her dropped her off for tutoring. Sansa likes to think this is all some weird coincidence, but even she can only fool herself for so long. It almost feels like Mr. Clegane is seeking her out intentionally, though for the life of her she can't figure out why. It couldn't be for the stimulating conversation…

If it had been up to her, these weird meetings would be nothing more than a passing moment. A stammered apology for her inevitable running into him (the man had a thing for popping out of corners and shadowy alcoves at the worst possible second), a grunt from him, and her politely speed-walking as fast as she could away so it didn't actually look like she was running from him. But Mr. Clegane is apparently a talker.

He liked to pick her mind about seemingly inconsequential things; her ideals, her religious beliefs, her favorite _movies_. And then he liked to mock said things, mock _her_ until she got irritated enough to defend herself, then he would get down right nasty which either left her to stand there and take it until he dismissed her, suddenly done with the conversation _he_ started or, on the rare occasion, when she got fed up enough, she'd turn and walk away on her own with her head held high and trying not to cry.

She had one of those _movies_ he'd called romantic drivel on in the background now, while she sat on her bed doing homework. Or trying to anyway. She gave up after reading the same sentence for the fifth time in a row and with the most feminine huff possible she promptly shut her textbook and pushed it away from her. Sansa wasn't actually that worried about the homework. She was the type to do it as soon as she possibly could so she that she was able stay on top of things, it wasn't actually due until next week. No, what she was really worried about was that it was Thursday night which meant tomorrow was Friday which meant she had a game which meant she'd have to see _him._ It was true that she now had any number of chances to see Mr. Clegane throughout the week, whether by fate's own hand or his, but tomorrow night's meeting was inevitable and unavoidable. It had gotten to the point where she tried not to be anywhere alone, but she had to go to the bathroom eventually.

 _Ugh._ She remembered not so long ago she couldn't get anything done on Thursday nights out of excitement. Being a cheerleader and dating a football player was supposed to be fun but he was _spoiling_ everything.

She reached for the unfinished embroidery work on her nightstand and started to stitch. It's the one thing she could always turn to when she needed a distraction but was too anxious to actually concentrate. She told herself the hand towel she was working on was a present for her mother's birthday, but that was months away and doesn't excuse the blanket, pillow, and three handkerchiefs she's done in the past few weeks. Arya liked to say that she 'stress embroiders' and that she 'had a real problem,' and though Sansa would deny that accusation to the ends of the earth, she couldn't help but think that at least she channels her negativity into something productive and not, let's say, a broken window.

She was detailing a particularly vexing flower when her phone pinged. She was in the zone and not planning to talk to anyone for at least another hour, but she stops immediately when she sees who's texted. Joffrey! Her heart was already fluttering by the time it took her to unlock her phone and read his message.

 _How was ur day?_

Oh, he really was the sweetest! Joffrey and her didn't share any classes together, since he was in the eleventh grade and she was only in the tenth, but he usually gave her a quick peck in the mornings and sometimes he'd wait to walk her from her Valyrian to her history class. The fact that he was still checking up on her even though they'd already seen plenty of each other today practically made her melt. It made her want to just spill her guts and all her worries to him, but she knew there was nothing he could do to help her unfortunate situation and she definitely didn't want to burden him when he obviously cared so much.

 _Good! I got a 93 on that math test I've worrying about, which was better than I was expecting, so I'm glad all the extra work is paying off. Oh and Margaery and I made plans to go shopping after the debutante meeting this weekend so I'm really excited about that. I was just doing some embroidery when you texted me but I'm not busy at all :)! Do you want to see a pic of what I've done so far?_

She thought she did a good job of hiding her actual feelings and remembering the highlights of her day did actually help brighten her mood. Maybe she would've felt better if she had just texted him herself earlier, that's what boyfriends were there for, right? To make you feel better? She always felt guilty texting him first though, since he was so busy, and it was rare he responded back to her. Her phone pinged again almost instantly, drowning her worries. He obviously had time for her now, and that's what was important.

 _thats cool_

When Joffrey did chance to text back it was usually in short quick sentences, which was fine since Sansa knew she had the tendency to ramble in her own texts. She was sure he just preferred to talk to her in person rather than over the phone. She also knew it wasn't his fault if his texts tended to sound abrupt or disinterested, she couldn't hear his tone through words alone and could easily misinterpret his intentions, so she tried not to over analyze his texting methods. She just wished she knew if ' _thats cool_ ' was a response to her telling him about her day or her asking if he wanted to see her embroidery.

She assumed the latter and was already happily maneuvering her phone to get the best image possible when it went off again.

 _Could u do a favor for me?_

She replied back almost instantly.

 _Of course! Anything you need._

Maybe she'd been too quick to the draw, but Sansa really was willing to help Joffrey out with almost anything. She just hoped it wasn't about his school work again as she tried to help him with that before and just ended up doing his entire report herself. It wasn't that she minded all that much, but Sansa had never cheated or helped anyone cheat before (and it _was_ cheating despite how he'd tried to console her that it wasn't) and it had filled her tummy with a gnawing hole of guilt for days.

 _Can I have a picture of you?_

 _I wanna be able to see u whenever I want_

She hurriedly muffled her squeal into a pillow before Arya could barge in and ask what all the noise was about. He wanted a picture! Of her! Just for him! Maybe Mr. Clegane was right, all her favorite movies were romantic drivel compared to this. Not wanting to make him wait, she quickly opened the camera app on her phone and took a look at herself. She preferred a natural look and only wore some concealer and a quick coat of mascara on most days, so she quickly bit her lips and pinched her cheeks, like her mother taught her to, to bring some color into her face. Sansa liked to think of herself as humble, but she also knew she was pretty, she'd been told so all her life and saw it in the mirror everyday. It still took her twenty tries to get the angle, pose, and lighting just right to take the perfect picture for him and she was quick to press send once she had it. He replied fast, in a bunch of small texts that came within seconds of each other.

 _Wow_

 _Thats nice_

 _Ur very pretty_

 _But I meant something a little more personal lol_

The compliments made her feel all fuzzy inside, but the last message deflated her a little. Maybe he thought she'd just sent him a photo she'd already taken and not one she took specifically for him? She wondered if he would like a video of her with some sweet message to him, but decided to promptly reply so he didn't think she was ignoring him. He'd accused her of that once when she'd been too distracted by the book she'd been reading and hadn't responded to him within a few minutes. She now always made sure to give him her full attention when he texted her, so he'd never think she was neglecting him again.

 _I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean? I only took the picture just now, if that's what you didn't like._

It took a little longer this time before her phone pinged again.

 _No I wanted to see all of you_

Sansa could pretend he just meant a picture that had her in it from head to toe, but she was starting to understand what he was getting at and she didn't like it at all. Her heart which was beating out of her chest only a few minutes ago now felt like a stone dropped to the bottom of her tummy.

 _I'm really sorry, but I don't know about that, Joffrey. We've only been dating a couple of months and I'm not ready for that._

She felt terrible for denying him, but she truly didn't think this was a line she could cross yet. Her phone let her know he responded, and for the first time she's filled with trepidation rather than excitement from getting a text from Joffrey. She hoped he'd be understanding and drop the subject entirely, but somehow she knew that was not what was going to happen. When she finally musters enough courage to look at his message, her heart migrates from its new home in her stomach to completely out of her body.

 _So ur saying u don't love me?_

Things had been so good only a few moments ago! She had been having a terrible night and Joffrey had come like a gallant prince in a storybook to rescue her from her woes and she paid him back by making him think she didn't love him. Why did she have to ruin everything? She typed back so fast, she didn't have time to reread it and make sure everything was as grammatically correct as she preferred. If that didn't show how terrified she was of his text, she didn't know what would.

 _No! Of course I love you joffrey I love you more than anything please don't say that_

Sansa didn't take her eyes off of the tiny bright phone screen the entire time, from the moment she saw those three grey dots to know he's typing to when his texts come through after what feels like eons, but her rational brain knew could only have been a few seconds.

 _Then I don't understand y u won't do this for me?_

 _I just want something of u I can always look at and know is only for me_

Sansa wondered why the picture she had just sent didn't check all those boxes but was already forming an argument for him in her head. She guessed he, or anyone else for that matter, could see a picture of her smiling face on social media anytime they wanted. Joffrey wanted something _special_ , something for him alone, and it truly would be; no one had ever seen her without her clothes on other than her family and that hadn't happened in years. She was too shy to even strip in front of the other cheer girls, changing in a bathroom stall instead of in the main locker room. This was definitely more intimate than anything they'd ever done but she knew it was something real couples did all the time. Most importantly, she didn't want Joffrey to think she didn't love him…

 _Okay :) just give me a moment._

She waited to see if he'd respond again and when he didn't waited a few moments more before she forced herself to quit stalling and get up from the comfort of her bed. _This is normal_ , she told herself, _people do this all the time. Stop being the weird, religious, home-schooled girl and do this incredibly normal, nice thing for your boyfriend._ She knew he loved her and thought, if she asked, would send a picture like the one he was requesting with no trouble. She briefly considered doing just that, before scrunching her nose in distaste. She really, really did love him, but Sansa found she had no desire for a picture of... _that_.

She got to standing in front of her wall length mirror, in only her bra and underwear, her clothes folded nicely out of the way, before she realized she couldn't go further than this. She wanted to but her shaking hands had other ideas. She had to hope Joffrey would be okay with only this much, which was still definitely more than anyone else had ever seen.

It's not that she was insecure. Her recent exercise had helped trim off her left over baby fat and let her natural curves shine through, which weren't too shabby in her own opinion. She was just shy and full of the religious guilt she was raised on. She hoped the gods could forgive her this one small slight. She still planned for the first time he saw her fully naked for them to actually be together in the flesh and preferably on their wedding night. She _did_ wish that she had something better to put on than her white bra and the cotton panties that came out of a pack though. It wasn't her fault, she hadn't really had any female influences in her life in the North other than her mother, who would die before even considering buying her flashy lingerie, Jeyne and Beth, who were almost as sheltered as she was, and...Arya. Sansa doesn't think she's close enough to the girls she's met here yet to talk about anything so intimate, although Myranda had definitely tried more than once. Maybe Margaery would want to help her buy lingerie on their shopping trip this weekend. Just the thought made her feel so grown up.

She got back in bed and laid on her back, angling her phone above her to see herself before she decided the lighting was way too harsh (she could see _everything_ ), got up to turn off the overhead light and turn on her lamp which gave the room and herself a nice warm glow before getting back in position. She fanned her hair out in thick waves over her pillows because she knew it was one of her best features and tried to pose in a way that was tasteful and not too skimpy, she was doing this for the romance after all. She made sure to get her face in the photo, because that was the most important part. It was only special because it was _her._ She didn't know what expression to make though, and after taking another twenty photos ended up with a soft, gentle smile that she felt conveyed her feelings perfectly to him.

Her heart stuttering in her chest, she had to physically make herself press the send button and wait with baited breath for the few moments it took him to respond.

 _Aw that's it lol?_

 _I was expecting more_

 _But you look so fucking hot ill take this for now._

Sansa doesn't text him back, but she doesn't really get the feeling he particularly wanted her to. He'd gotten what he wanted. She got out of bed and quickly put on her pajamas so she wouldn't have to see herself. The sight of her own skin was making her sick to her stomach for some reason. He'd called her hot and she guessed that was nice, and she was always happy to make him happy, but she just couldn't seem to convince the feelings churning in her tummy that this had been a good thing.

She went to sleep that night feeling even worse than before.


	3. Chapter 3

The bright midday light that shined through the several huge windows of one of the Highgarden's tea rooms had done a lot to brighten Sansa's mood. She was very in her element here at the elegant hotel owned by Margaery's family, sipping from a porcelain cup and eating delicate pastries, surrounded by other beautiful, distinguished women. Debutante meetings were one of her favorite places in the world. It was like they were pulled straight out of one of her dreams. Although in her dreams, Arya was almost never there unless it was a nightmare, and she especially wasn't listening to metal music so loud you could hear it through her headphones while trying to see how many finger sandwiches she could stuff into her mouth at one time.

Sansa wouldn't sit by her if she could help it, but she knew if she made Arya go sit by herself, she'd tattle to father the moment he picked them up. Apparently it hurt Arya's feelings, but you couldn't tell that by looking at her. If she really _wanted_ to spend time with Sansa, she could try to not be such a nuisance every once in a while and maybe not wipe her hands on the dress Sansa had painstakingly picked out and forced her into that morning.

She did her best to ignore her sister and focus on Margaery and her delightful cousins who had so sweetly deigned to sit with her despite the black hole that was Arya at her side. During the actual meeting they had sat with the other Tyrell women, while everyone discussed the upcoming charity events and voted on theme colors for next Sunday's brunch. Nothing too important, as the organization's biggest event, the grand ball where girls were introduced to society, was still months away. In the North, it was unusual for a girl to debut before she turned eighteen, but the South held different traditions and she was ecstatic to know she would be attending the ball in the spring being considered a young woman. It was only right as Sansa already felt like an adult, it was time everyone else started seeing her as one.

Lunch commenced with the most important things out of the way, and the girls were allowed to intermingle and chat. Sansa had brightened when Margaery had immediately come to sit with her, joined by her ever present younger cousins who tended to follow her around like little ducklings.

Sansa had actually met Margaery at her first debutante meeting in the south that summer. Her tiny, wizened grandmother was head and founder of the Southern Women's Society so Margaery took it upon herself to personally welcome every girl that joined. They'd become fast friends as Margaery was everything she could want in a sister and companion, so pretty and kind and dignified. She could go on but her real sister had begun incessantly tapping out the beat to her music on the table and it was driving her _insane._

"Could you please stop that?" she whispered to Arya, so as to not draw attention to them.

Arya, who had the volume up so loud it must be doing permanent damage to her ears, couldn't hear a word she'd just said. She took out one earbud, though she kept _tap, tap, tapping,_ on the silken tablecloth. "What?" she asked so loudly someone from another table looked over.

Sansa said nothing, just took Arya's offending hand in her own and made it lay flat against the table, patting it sternly twice to make her message clear. Arya rolled her eyes and Sansa was about to scold her for that too when she heard someone say the name that had been at the forefront of her mind since Thursday night. She quickly whipped her head towards the other girls, accidentally interrupting whatever Alla was saying. "I'm sorry, but did one of you say Joffrey?"

Margaery smiled, seemingly not put off by Sansa's rude disturbance of their conversation. "We were just talking about the whole broken phone fiasco."

"What broken phone?"

Margaery lightly smacked herself on the forehead. "Of course you don't know. You weren't there yesterday and without his phone Joff wouldn't be able to tell you. Silly me."

"Joffrey broke his phone?" she questioned. It was true she hadn't been to school yesterday. She'd woken Friday morning, hoping a good (restless) night's sleep would assuage her worries but found the pit in her stomach to still be there when she opened her eyes. The stress had apparently been bad enough to materialize physically as her father had taken one look at her pale face and the dark circles under her eyes before sending her right back to bed. Sansa usually tried hard to have perfect attendance, she was in a lot of advanced classes and it was easy to get behind, but she couldn't help but send a prayer of thanks up to the Mother for her mercy. Being able to crawl back into her pink sheets and not have to face her life was like a dream come true. It got even better, when after waking from a light doze she saw Joffrey had texted her, wanting to know where she was. She'd told him she thought she was coming down with something and he'd said he hoped she'd get better soon…and that he couldn't stop looking at her picture.

The last message had sent a flutter in her tummy that she couldn't tell was good or bad. Maybe both. Bad because she still thought sending the photo might've been a mistake. But good because Joffrey obviously enjoyed it, and of course it pleased her to know he thought she was pretty. That bad feeling slowly grew less and less as the day went on and Joffrey continued to text her. He was already being so much more talkative and attentive than usual, this _had_ to have been a step in the right direction. She'd proven she loved him and he was meeting her there. The texts had dropped off near game time and he never responded back to her after that. She'd assumed he'd just been tired and gone right to sleep after but apparently not?

"Well, _he_ didn't break it," Margaery said with the look of someone who had some choice gossip to share. "Now I wasn't there, this all happened in the boys' locker room before the game, but Loras told me everything."

Margaery had her full attention. It was taking everything Sansa had not to lean forward on the edge of her seat. Her cousins, though doubtlessly having heard this story before, were all turned towards Margaery as well, like flowers to the sun. She was a natural leader. Her pretty face and witty charm just made you want to hear what she had to say. Margaery, seeming to preen under all the attention, continued, "Well all the boys were around looking at something Joffrey was showing them on his phone."

"What was he showing them?" Sansa couldn't help but butt in. She knew for a fact she was being silly, that Joffrey absolutely, without a doubt, would never show anyone _that_ picture. She couldn't help it though, her nerves had been positively fried with everything going on in her life lately.

"Hmm? Oh, I don't know. Loras didn't look. Anyway—"

" _I_ heard," said Myranda Royce, who had apparently been listening in from the neighboring table as she invited herself over and sat in the empty seat at their group, "that it was a picture of Sansa with her tits out."

Sansa's heart dropped to the bottom of her tummy. "It was not!" proclaimed Arya too loudly and her mortification only grew to find her little sister had both headphones out and had been listening to the entire conversation.

Margaery gave Randa a reproachful look. "Why would you say something like that?"

She shrugged, unbothered, before popping a tiny cake into her mouth whole. When she finished chewing she said, "That's just what Harry Hardyng told me, and he was there."

Sansa was looking down at her hands in her lap, fiddling with her neatly manicured nails but she could feel it as the girls' eyes came back to rest on her. Feeling like she was about to be sick all over the pristine white table cloth she said, her voice almost a whisper, "I had a bra on."

She heard Myranda snort and Arya, who had yet to stop glaring at her, suddenly whipped her head back around to Sansa. "You _what_?"

She knew her face was on fire at this point and she felt about two inches tall. She wished she was, so she could just disappear from this whole conversation.

Margaery pressed a comforting hand to her shoulder. "It's not that bad, Sansa. Everyone knows you're a good girl."

Even Randa looked a little sympathetic. "It really isn't. Gods know I've done a lot worse." From what Sansa had heard, she had, but being compared to Randa really didn't make her feel any better. How could Joffrey do this to her? Didn't he say he loved her? He must not know the impact a picture like that could have on a girl.

Sansa could feel the paranoia creeping up on her. Randa had known and she didn't have a reputation for keeping secrets. Gods, almost the entire football team had seen it! Who else would they tell? Who else already knew in this room? Mother have mercy, Joffrey's mother and little sister were here! How could she ever look them in the eyes again, knowing they could know what she'd done?

"Are they serious, Sansa?" Arya asked, disbelieving.

Arya had a talent for making Sansa agitated even in her best moods, she really couldn't deal with her in her current state. "Arya, not right now, please?"

Margaery seemed a little antsy now that her story and spotlight had been derailed. "Do you still want to hear what happened with Joffrey's phone?"

Randa let out a boisterous peal of laughter. "Harry said he cried."

 _Joffrey cried?_ Despite feeling emotionally like an on fire garbage can, her sudden worry for Joffrey trumped her own wrecked state and she nodded to Margaery, her interest piqued.

The gleam in her eyes was back, and Margaery continued her story as if that little blip never happened. "You know that really scary coach they have? With the facial disfigurement or whatever?"

Now Sansa had obviously never died before, but she thought this is what dying must feel like. Fate seemed to be conspiring against her to make everything bad that could possibly happen to her in the shortest amount of time possible happen. The biggest stresses of her life were literally colliding in front of her eyes. Mr. Clegane was now not only following her around school, but into her weekends as well.

"I know him!" Arya blurted to Sansa's confusion.

"You do?"

"Yeah, you know when dad forced me to go to your first game and I brought Mycah along?" Sansa vaguely recalled Mycah, but Arya tended to keep a strange group of friends that she tried not to look at too closely. "Well we got bored a little ways in, and ended up sneaking off to explore. We were messing around in the locker room when he found us and started yelling."

"That doesn't sound so bad…" She didn't know why she was defending him, but it was hard to blame Mr. Clegane for scolding Arya, when in her opinion, the girl desperately needed it.

"He said he'd beat the shit out of us if we didn't go right then," Arya said, completely deadpan, to the delight of Myranda and the shock of every other girl at the table.

Sansa was about to reprimand her for the language, when Margaery plowed on with her story, seemingly tired of the interruptions. "Well he saw what was going on and absolutely flipped his lid, just started cursing and screaming at everyone. Loras said he picked Joff up _off his feet_ by the front of his shirt."

"Oh my gods," Sansa couldn't help but whisper out loud. She was still a little put off with Joffrey, but her heart went out to him. She knew what it was like to be on the opposite end of that rage, and Mr. Clegane had _never_ truly gotten physical with her, she couldn't even imagine how scared he must have been.

"He was shaking him and yelling, asking him if he'd sent it to anyone."

Fear flashed in a shock down Sansa's spine like being hit with a bucket of cold water. She hadn't even considered that. "Did he? Send it I mean?"

"I don't know, dear. I don't have all the details. But he let him go and took his phone and smashed it, just threw it on the floor and stomped on it until it was in a million pieces. He told Joff he was out of the game and if he didn't leave right then or if he did anything like that ever again, he'd cut him from the team. As well as a million other threats involving great bodily harm."

"Wow," Sansa said without thinking.

"I know right? Like that was way over the top."

Sansa stopped short. "What?"

"I mean it wasn't cool what Joff did," Margaery said, with a sympathetic look towards her. "But boys are just like that, you know? The coach went way too far. Obviously he's going to get fired, he can't put his hands on a student like that, but I was thinking Joff could probably press charges too." Her younger cousins nodded along, agreeing to whatever Margaery said.

Sansa was less sure. She loved Joffrey but she was burning with disbelief, and embarrassment, and _anger_ that he would do something like this to her. The whole point was he wanted something from her only he could have, and then he went around and shared it with apparently half the stupid school.

Yes, Mr. Clegane had gone too far, but he seemed to be the only one who viewed this situation with as much seriousness as Sansa. She knew her friends were only trying to not make a big deal out of her discretion, but what about _Joffrey's_? Their casualness and blasé attitude rubbed her the wrong way.

"I just want to know," Randa said, laughing into her hand, "what made you think putting your face in the photo was a good idea?" The other girls around the table let out little giggles and Sansa stood up abruptly.

"Excuse me, I have to go to the lady's room," she said with as much dignity as she could muster before walking away at a normal pace, even though she wanted to run as fast as her legs could take her. "What'd I do?" she heard Myranda ask. Her eyes burned and she could feel her throat closing up. _Don't cry, don't cry don't cry. Not while people can see you._ She dug her nails into the meat of her palm to have something else to focus on."

After what felt like forever, she made it to the bathroom, planning to weep like a little girl the moment she was alone, but found Arya blocking the door with her hand when she went to slam it shut.

Sansa let out a most unfeminine groan, and to her horror, felt the hot slide of unchecked tears roll down her cheek. "What do you _want?_ " Her voice cracked on the last word.

Arya, seeing that her sister was in the beginnings of a mental break down, made a quick check to see that the stalls were empty before flicking the lock on the door. "I can't believe you," she half screamed, half whispered.

"I do not need this right now, Arya. Just go away," She was really in it now, even fighting back sobs. Sansa was the type to cry at any overwelling of emotion, be it happiness or frustration, but it had been a while since she'd had a real fit. She could already feel the headache coming.

Arya was relentless though, stepping into her personal space. "Why would you do that?"

"He asked me to!" Great, now she was yelling. No one else on earth had the power to make her so over the top like this. Something about her sister just made her so _irritated_. "He said I would do it if I love him and I do so I did!"

"Oh, Sansa." Arya's disappointed tone made her chafe. Like she was so mature and worldly, as if she was the older sibling scolding the younger one for making a mess.

" _What_?" she asked, miserable. Why didn't she understand that she just wanted to be alone?

"Come here." She grabbed Sansa brusquely by the hand and though she wanted to shake her off, she found suddenly she was just so drained of energy and could do nothing more than let herself be dragged to one of the sinks lining the wall.

She looked an absolute horror. Though her sobbing fit had not been going on long, her mascara was already running and her eyes were red rimmed. They would be puffy and swollen long after she was done and everyone would _know_. She was about to spiral into another wave of crying when Arya pressed a paper towel soaked in cold water to her cheek, wiping away the itchy mess of tear stains on her face. "That was fucking shitty of him to do."

"Ary—"

"Don't tell me not to curse. This is literally your favorite day of the month, when you get to come to these meetings and he ruined it and made you cry. That's fucking shitty."

She had moved on to pressing the towel gently to Sansa's eyes, to hopefully calm the eventual swelling. "He didn't mean to," she argued weakly.

Arya scrunched her nose to show what she thought of _that._ "I hate Joffrey and his dumb face, you know that. I thought he was a right prick way before this and wondered why you couldn't see it. I think what you did was stupid, but it doesn't excuse him. And I think you should break up with that worm and let me breaking his fucking face in. But I won't give you the whole spiel, it's your life to live, no matter how bad your decisions are."

She laughed weakly. "Thanks." She stood there and let Arya wipe away the last traces of her episode for a few moments more before she said, "Could you call dad and have him come pick us up early?"

Arya nodded and pulled out her phone as she went to throw the paper towel away. "And Arya?" She turned back. "Could you not tell him what happened?"

Arya looked confused that she would even have to ask. "Of course."

Sansa made a mental note to not tattle on Arya next time she got herself into trouble, no matter how ludicrous.

And she wondered how she would thank Mr. Clegane for what he'd done for her.


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa hadn't thought her first half baked attempt to find him would actually _lead_ to anything. She'd been surprised to even find the dusty old phone book at the bottom of a pile of other unwanted, miscellaneous tomes in her father's study. And surely it wouldn't have been so simple as to just open it up and find all the information she had needed on him with a turn of a page. Except it was, and she had. In bold print, under the 'C' section:

 ** _Clegane, Sandor_**

It had been the only one with that surname listed and she'd wondered if he had no family other than that awful brother of his. He hadn't mentioned anyone else other than his father, but it didn't seem like they had a good relationship either and the man could be dead for all she knew. Sansa, having grown up always surrounded with a home full of siblings and loving parents, couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to have no family. She'd even take only having Arya versus being alone in the world.

There was of course the possibility that it wasn't him. Sansa didn't know Mr. Clegane's first name, though Sandor did seem fitting; strong and blunt and masculine like the man himself. It actually wasn't that far off from Sansa's own name now that she thought about it. And when she'd put the address listed beside the name and phone number into the maps app on her phone, the place had been near enough that Sansa couldn't use the excuse of distance to not go and check.

 _I already know where you live._

Sansa had remembered his words and felt a shiver down her spine when she'd seen how close he lived to her home. The thought of his hulking shadow slipping unannounced into her room to slit her throat or carry her away while she slept unaware hadn't been far from her mind, but she'd known she was just being silly.

Probably.

She _wanted_ to thank Mr. Clegane for what he'd done for her. Really, she did. No one but him and Arya had taken what Joffrey had done seriously at all. Yes, maybe smashing Joffrey's phone into microscopic pieces had been a touch too far, but in the end it was the thought that counted. And thanking him was the polite thing to do. Someone got you a present, you sent them a thank you note. Someone knocked some sense into your boyfriend while he showed several other young men your private photos, you made them your award winning lemon cake. It was just common courtesy.

The thing was, no matter how much she wanted to thank him, interactions with Mr. Clegane hardly ever seemed to go her way and she was loathe to have any more of them than what he already forced on her. And she knew the longer she waited to thank him, the less gall she'd have to actually do it and the universe seemed to agree. Finding his address had been one of the most painless and easiest experiences she'd had in the past month, it was basically dropped into her lap and he was only a twenty minute bike ride away, she really had no excuse. Besides the lemon cake wouldn't be fresh if she waited until tomorrow. _Like ripping off a band-aid._

Which was how she ended up standing in front of his apartment complex Sunday evening, dread in her tummy and said lemon cake in a gift wrapped bag on her arm.

She'd have come sooner, but Sunday mornings were reserved for sept services. Sansa had made a habit of catching a ride with Margaery every week since neither Arya or her father practiced her mother's faith like she did. She had been afraid it was going to be terribly awkward based on yesterday's breakdown, which the other girl hadn't seen but could've probably assumed based on Sansa's storming off from their table and leaving early without even a goodbye. But she shouldn't have been worried, Margaery acted like her usual charming self and Sansa was able to follow suit.

They'd had plans after the meeting yesterday to go shopping and since that obviously hadn't happened they'd moved them to today. To be honest, some retail therapy had been just what she'd needed, and she may have let the time slip away from her. It had already been late afternoon by the time Margaery dropped her off, and she'd had to rush to make the desert. (It still turned out perfect of course. Sansa didn't do things by half measures.) By the time she finished it was late enough that her father asked where she was going as she tried to slip out the door. She'd told him she was just going to a friend's house to drop the cake off for a bake sale tomorrow and of course he'd believed her because she'd never lied straight to her father's face before.

It was already deep into the fall, Stranger's Eve being less than a week away. At this point back home, her breath would already be fogging the air in front of her, but summer seemed to linger in the south and with only a few minutes before sunset she'd been able to bike her way there in just a thin sundress and sandals without a chill.

The entire ride she'd been so racked with guilt about lying to her father, she'd forgotten to feel worried about her impending encounter. She made up for that now sevenfold as she trembled with anxiety while she locked her bike to the gate surrounding his building. The act was a habit, but honestly she didn't feel a huge need for the precaution.

If for some reason she'd been asked to imagine Mr. Clegane's residence before this, she would've pictured some ramshackle abode surrounded by dead yellowing grass; a place neighborhood children would be too scared to step foot on lest some gravelly voice threatened to kill them from within. But the apartment complex and the surrounding area were actually quite pleasant seeming, nowhere nice enough for people like her family to live of course, but definitely nothing like the nightmare she would have envisioned.

This was probably a bad decision. She knew that. But she'd made enough of them in the past few weeks, one more couldn't hurt.

In all honesty, she had a strange trust in the man. He was all kinds of mean and scared the living daylights out of her, but he'd never hurt her physically. In truth, whenever he did happen to touch her, sometimes lifting her chin to make her look into his terrible face or squeezing her shoulder when he wanted to make a point, it was with a queer gentleness she didn't expect such a big man to be capable of. He had defended her from Joff's indiscretion, given her his jacket when she was cold, gave her a ride home when she was stranded. He was genuinely horrible about all of it, of course, but he had been weirdly kind to her in his own way, especially when it wasn't expected of him.

Besides, it was a little too late to turn back when she was already ringing the doorbell.

Nervously she clutched the handle of the gift bag. It took him long enough to answer the door that she was starting to consider ringing the bell again or just forgetting the whole thing and hightailing it out of there. Before she could truly consider either option there was a click and the door opened revealing just the man she wanted and didn't want to see.

Mr. Clegane had so far shown her a wide range of facial expressions from mild disdain to seething contempt but Sansa didn't think she'd ever seen him surprised before. The one eyebrow that hadn't been seared away was raised high as he looked down to find her on his doorstep, his eyes almost bulging out. The almost comedic expression stretching his scars in a truly grotesque way. He then started to blink rapidly like he couldn't quite believe she was really there, maybe a strange mirage conjured up by his imagination.

He must have had practice keeping his emotions off his face. The look was gone fast as he gathered his wits about him and realized, somehow, she really _was_ standing on his doorstep. She could barely believe it herself. His heavy brow had begun its descent from half way up his forehead and was now back into its usual furrowed position. Before he could tell her to get off his property, she brought the bag up quickly in the space between them. "This is for you."

His grey eyes looked from the pristine looking gift, to her face, back to the bag. "What's that?" he rasped out, bemused. Not angry yet. Good.

"My thanks." She tried a sincere smile as he looked back to her, but didn't think she quite pulled it off. It was hard to do things sincerely when you weren't. "I heard you stopped Joffrey from showing all those boys _that_ photo. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't stepped in."

"Who said I did it for you?" There was a slight sneer to his face now.

Gulping, she said, "It's true I don't know your reasons, but your actions helped me all the same so," she nodded her head to the bag, "thank you."

"You never answered my question."

"Hmm?"

"What _is_ it?"

"Oh!" She hastily widened the opening of the gift bag so he would be able to peer down inside of it. "It's a cake. Lemon flavored. I made it myself…" She was rambling slightly but it was only because he still hadn't looked at the bag, he was too busy staring at her.

His heavy gaze made her feel pinned like some butterfly under the scrutiny of a collector. She wished she had worn something else. The dress had allowed her to feel the last warm vestiges of sunlight on her bare skin on the way here but now the thin fabric left her feeling exposed. "I know a few ways you can thank me." His voice was low, but then again it always was; dark and gravely.

 _I hope one of those ways is cake because that's all I have,_ she thought but had better sense than to say it out loud.

His head dipped down low so his face was close to hers. When he spoke to her, his voice was almost a whisper, "I could make you sing. I'd like that." The edges of his grim mouth lifted up in what could be considered a smile. "I could make you like it too."

Sansa's face wrinkled in confusion. She wouldn't have gone through all the trouble to make a cake if she had known all he would have wanted was a song! Mr. Clegane didn't really seem the type but she wasn't one to judge. "I love to sing," she told him brightly. "I'm in sept choir and you have to audition to get in so I promise I'm not bad at it. What song would you—"

"Spare me." He sighed, running his hand down his face like the conversation was making him feel more tired than he'd ever felt in his entire life. Looking closer, he _did_ look exhausted. The skin under his eyes was dark like he hadn't been sleeping well and she remembered that he might lose his job over this. Over her.

She added guilt to the swirling pile of ways he could make her feel.

"Well, come on," he moved his massive frame aside to make room in the doorway. He couldn't possibly expect her to— "Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to come in and give me the damned thing? I may be a big man but I can't eat an entire cake by myself."

Oh, this was bad. Terribly bad, because even as Sansa wracked her brain for any excuse possible to not step over the threshold, she already knew she was going to. He'd proven several times over that he could sniff out any lies she told him; which would do nothing to help lighten his mood when he inevitably caught her. There was just no polite way to refuse him, she had lived her entire life on the rules of courtesy, and he knew it too. He had her trapped. Of course, all of this paled in comparison to her biggest reason for walking straight into the wolf's den like some hapless heroine in those bad horror movies Arya liked to watch: Sansa couldn't say no to lemon cake if her life depended on it.

She slipped by Mr. Clegane, being careful not to touch him, and into his home while trying to think positive thoughts. It was true, she'd always been afraid of him, including at this very moment, but the feeling had shifted in the past month. It was now less a fear of being brutally murdered and left in an unmarked grave in the woods and more a fear of getting yelled at for no good reason; though that wasn't a walk in the park either. The Hound so far seemed to have a worse bark than his bite. But he helped her when no one else would. She had to remember why she was there.

 _There_ being not as unpleasant as Sansa would've expected. She wouldn't describe his apartment as _pleasant_ either, per se, but it wasn't the gloomy torture dungeon of her nightmares. The small entryway opened onto a kitchen with a round wooden dining table and chairs in the center. She could see what looked like a living room to the right and the beginning of a hallway which must've led to his bedroom. Definitely ample room for one person, but Mr. Clegane seemed to dwarf the surrounding area as he led her, swaying slightly, to the dining table. Then again, everything seemed small in comparison to him.

His place was sparse with no decoration or anything beyond what was considered necessary for basic survival. It was clean though, no laundry lying around or dishes in the sink, which meant her attention was immediately caught by the unfinished beer bottle on the table and the several lying around it.

She normally wouldn't begrudge a grown man a drink on a Sunday evening, her own father often had a night time glass of whiskey to wind down after a long day, but there were _a lot_ of bottles on the table and honestly she'd seen him slightly inebriated enough on school grounds to suspect he had a real problem and a secret flask always on hand.

Some of the bottles clinked together as she subtly moved them out of the way to make room for her cake. "Sorry," he grumbled as he sat heavily down in the chair next to her. He certainly didn't _sound_ sorry. "Wasn't expecting company."

"Well, I'm sorry for intruding on you out of the blue," she was pleased to note that her apology sounded _much_ more sincere. She went to work on unwrapping her cake from its pristine little package. "Can I have something to cut this with, please?"

"Why are you here?"

She'd been distracting herself with pleasantries so she wouldn't have to focus on what was sure to be an awkward and uncomfortable next few minutes but his straightforward tone cut right through that. When she looked at him from the corner of her eye, he leaned back in his chair, legs spread wide. The picture of nonchalance. She didn't let that stop her heart rate from picking up, she knew how fast the man could shift. "I told you, I'm—"

"Yes, I know, your _thanks_ ," the word was mocking. "But why are you _here_? Seven Hells, how do you even know where I live?"

Sheepishly, she replied, "The phone book..." She hadn't really thought about it before now, too preoccupied with her own plan, but this was definitely a huge invasion of privacy. What sane person looks up where their school faculty lives and shows up on their doorstep on a weekend night? The past few weeks had frazzled her more than she thought, she may actually be losing her mind.

He scoffed to let her know what he thought of _that_. "You just couldn't wait to see me tomorrow, is that what you're saying?" Sarcasm was heavy off his tongue.

 _I'm saying I wanted this interaction to be over as soon as possible_ , but she didn't think he would appreciate that bit of honesty. "I'm sorry. I'll leave." She'd been raring for an actual excuse and with her cake delivered, if he didn't want her there then she definitely had no reason to stay.

He grabbed her arm before she could even begin to move. His grip was so tight it stung but she had the feeling that this amount of strength was nothing to him, that he could break her arm in a second if he really wanted to. "I've been wondering...are you truly this dumb? Or is it an act?"

"What?"

He spoke in low tones, his voice barely anything but gravel. "I'm going to lose my job because some stupid high schooler had to take slut pictures of herself for her little cunt of a boyfriend." He gave a quick shake of his head like he was trying to physically get his thoughts in order and all Sansa could do was stare. "Damn me, maybe I'm the stupid one. I did the right thing though, didn't I? I protected the innocent maiden like some knight in shining fucking armor. Except now here you are, showing up at some old man's door, looking like jailbait in your little dress, even though I've done nothing to hide the fact that I'd _fuck you bloody_ given half the chance."

Sansa truly hadn't realized how drunk he was until that moment. He didn't slur his words, too practiced in his vice for that, but this close she could smell the alcohol on his breath and see the haze in his half lidded eyes. Eyes that he now let wander down her body. She was still standing, and his height sitting left him at the perfect level to stare unabashadley at her chest. Could he see that she was shaking?

"So," he said, steely rage filled eyes back on her wide blue ones, pinning her with his gaze just as much as the hand on her arm. "Either you're trying to get me in trouble, this is all some weird game you're playing with me. _Or_ ," the grip on her arm bared down and she was sure there was going to be a bruise there tomorrow morning, "you really are as dull as you seem. You somehow _still_ haven't learned your lesson about men."

"You're hurting me."

He shook her hard enough to make her teeth chatter. "It seems to be the only way to get through to you." He stood now, and oh that was much worse. She felt like prey hunted by some wild predator, trembling in his shadow. It was all too much. And just like a wild animal, the moment she looked away, he pounced.

He pinched her chin between his fingers and roughly brought her face back to his. "A little bird's thanks means nothing. All you do is chirp out your empty little thank yous, and your pleases, and your sirs to any man you meet. I want more than that. I want you to _mean_ it. So I'll have that song from you and I'll teach you your lesson and you'll thank me. Again and again and again."

He moved away then and she was grateful for the moment it took her to realize that she was moving too. He was dragging her behind him, away from the front door and escape and safety and further into his apartment. He was taking her to the hallway, the lights were off and she could see nothing beyond the great black maw of the opening though she knew what lurked beyond. Sansa felt if she passed through the threshold it would swallow her whole.

Her begging reached her ears at the same moment she realized she was crying. "Please, please, sir. _Sandor_. I don't want to. I'm sorry. I'll leave. I'm sorry." She thrashed, but her feeble strength fazed him as much as her words: not at all.

It's not like she hadn't given him the opportunity to hurt her before. He wouldn't really, would he? Except he already was.

Once, when she was smaller, a stray dog roamed her neighborhood. Her mother told her to leave it be, but it was winter and it was so skinny. She'd only wanted to help. She brought the mangy thing water and food and when she reached out to pet it it didn't stop her, but its ears were back and its teeth were bared. Still she reached out every time she saw it and every time it growled. It had warned her. Sansa had still been so surprised when it bit her hard enough to bleed. She hadn't needed stitches but it had been a close thing. She'd forgotten about that until just now.

Mr. Clegane was right. She hadn't learned her lesson.

She felt she was half in a dream as he drew her into the shadow of the corridor and further in still and she fought, she _did_ , but she'd never been like Arya, to lash out and go against the current. Sansa was the gentle one, the one who allowed herself to be shaped and molded and _lead_ , because she believed there was no such thing as bad intentions. Because she trusted.

Suddenly they were in his room and she couldn't look at anything because he was already shoving her on his unmade bed, hard enough that she bounced. Before she could even think of scrambling away, he was on her. He was breathing hard and so was she, he'd laid only some of his terrible weight on his elbows but the rest of his body aligned on top of hers and she could feel the air being pushed out of her lungs. Her arms were caught and pressed up against his chest. She was completely held down. She felt a hot tear roll down her cheek.

She stared listlessly at the shadowed ceiling and waited for him to do what he wanted, but nothing happened for a long moment. When she heard the rough rasp of his voice, whisper quiet, her eyes met his in the dark. "I saw the photo, when Baratheon was passing it around. It was supposed to just be some shot with your tits out for some idiot teenager to jerk off to, yet somehow you looked like a fucking angel. You're too innocent to be real, little bird. It only makes me want you more." She could see the want in his scarred face, she could _feel_ it stabbing into her thigh. But with it was an absolute burning hatred in his eyes, disgust there too, and she didn't think it was for her.

She knew then.

Nothing happened for seconds or for hours, but their faces were so close they shared breath and she somehow wriggled an arm free from his oppressive weight. "You won't hurt me." And maybe she was a fool. And maybe she would never learn her lesson about petting snarling dogs or men or the beings in between. But when she cupped his burnt jaw in her hand, she felt the bone where the flesh had seared away and the craggy skin where it had not and a wetness that let her know he was weeping too.

"No, little bird." His voice was rougher than she'd ever heard it. "I won't hurt you."

Suddenly she could breathe again and he was on the other side of the bed, head in his hands. She didn't move, didn't even pull down her dress where it had ridden up her thighs. After a minute he said, "get out," but it was lacking his normal bite and she left him to lick his wounds. Sansa was used to being the one running away from their encounters, and though she was still leaving, it felt like he was trying to escape from _her._

* * *

That night, after she was safe in the comfort of her own bed, she remembered the heavy weight of him pressing down between her legs and his warm panting against her neck and wondered what it would've been like if he had kissed her. Her hand slipped beneath the hem of her panties at the thought and she touched herself for the first time in her life.


End file.
